Innocent
by Xarra
Summary: Songfic based on Mike Oldfield's Innocent. 3x4.


**Innocent**

AN: 'Innocent' is © Mike Oldfield. Song fic, very old (2003), that I thought I'd throw up here (and maybe coax people to read my Highlander/GW crossover, 'Til Death...)

[I know you'll never stay the same,

In time most of us lose it]

The pale moonlight trickled over honey-brown hair to sparkle on the single deep green eye below. The thin bed sheet rippled around him in silken waves as he sat up in the familiar deadly silence of night, bringing back memories of his days as a Gundam pilot when stealth was an automatic part of any mission. Now it was just to prevent the angel on his window sill from moving and destroying his pose and thoughts.

[But I'm hoping just the same,

You'll shine and learn how to use it.]

The moonlight formed a soft halo in the younger boy's, no, man's fair hair, causing Trowa to wonder for the hundredth time how he of all people managed to catch a glimpse of heaven. Before peace, during the war, Quatre's sweet looks had been a weapon in themselves, and that had tainted the pale peacefulness of the ocean-eyed boy. These moments were to be treasured. When the Arab pilot could feel the caress of his beloved world and enjoy it. Trowa's lips turned upwards to hint at a smile, but his lover had soon learnt to use that wide-eyed gaze, soft voice like velvet over leather and slender body for gentler pursuits than war. And infinitely more enjoyable.

[Speak to me, like the very first speak,

You are magnificent when you're innocent,

Laugh to me, like the very first laugh,

You are from heaven sent when you're innocent.]

"Trowa..." The softest whisper of sound stroked across the darker Latin skin, causing him to almost shiver. Memories of earlier nights, right back to their first night together streamed like comets across his mind, there had always been that whisper, one single moment every time where Quatre would say his name softly, delicately, in wonder, as if it was a fragile bird that could at any moment fly away. Every time it seemed new and fresh.

[My hands hold you and you adore,

Blue eyes turn my direction,]

And every time it elicited the same reaction, the sheets fell back unbidden, trickling away to the floor as he moved, the bed softly creaking its lullaby. Trowa's long legs glided him off the bed and towards the silhouette by the window with catlike grace, his arms snaking round the smaller boy. "Yes, my Quatre?" he murmured, resting his head atop the blonde hair, rubbing his cheek against it, before closing his eyes to breath in the soft spicy scent. He felt Quatre's head shift, and adjusted his position, opening his eyes to gaze down into his young partner's oasis eyes, feeling himself drown in them for a long moment before their lips met.

[Surprise in everything and your

Body moves in perfection.]

He never got tired of pulling back for air, and seeing Quatre's still slightly parted lips and closed eyes for a moment, before the golden eyelashes flickered open, and the lips bent into a cherub's bow. Trowa carefully perched on the sill behind his lover, trying to pull him against his bare chest, and meeting unusual resistance. "What..." Then a finger fell onto his mouth, stroking him into silence. He kissed the finger softly, before drawing it into his mouth as the slender blonde writhed round onto his front.

"Bed..." the other pilot murmured softly, sliding over Trowa's body to the ground, and leading him by the touch of his finger in the warmth of the his partner's mouth to the rumpled covers. Trowa was powerless to resist the slightly swaying body, wondering just how much of that seductive grace was instinctive and how much was purely for his benefit.

[Smile to me, like the very first smile,

You are magnificent when you're innocent,

Walk to me, like the very first walk,

You are from heaven sent when you're innocent.]

The small secret smile of satisfaction on Quatre's lips as Trowa wrapped his arms protectively around his lover, curling around him from behind, made him smile himself as he buried his face against the golden locks. As usual, the Arabic boy-man had proved just how uninnocent he could be, but Trowa found it hard to believe than only a few minutes earlier the angelic face had been contorted in pleasure, and screaming out words that were definitely not used in aristocratic polite society.

[Sunrise, here comes another day.

Cow jumps over the moon, now.]

As the sun broke across the room, Trowa rolled over onto his back, shielding his visible eye with a slender tapered hand. The bed was empty except for him, the pale cream sheets crumpled around his waist. He lay there in silence for a few moments, savoring the exotic silence of the room. During the war, any split second of quiet was a gift. Even in the battles of outer space, the roaring or the engines, the buzzing in your ears, comm-links, prevented the peacefulness that he could now enjoy.

"Sorry, I forgot to close the shutters, didn't I?" Quatre's soft voice floated across the room, and Trowa turned to gaze at his partner's entrance. The pale pink colour of his shirt would look effeminate on anyone but the soft featured boy, and the sandy slacks fitted his narrow hips neatly. But it was the youthful smile hovering above the tray of tea things that held Trowa's attention the longest before he recovered his mind enough to sit up, one leg drawing up for his chin to rest on as Quatre organised their morning ritual of tea.

[Sometime, you will look back and say,

"Today, I'll sing my own tune."]

"It's alright." Trowa answered, the humour sparkling in his cat-green eyes as his lover passed him a warm cup. "I needed to be waking up any way." He moved over on the bed to allow Quatre space to sit, and rested his head against the Sandrock pilot's shoulder, enjoying the closeness, wondering why this angel had decided to be with him. He was nothing special, just a soldier. Just a clown. Someday, Quatre might see that, see behind his mask to the ordinary boy within...

A hand grasped his cheek firmly, "Trowa, don't go all melancholy on me." his head was forced unresisting around to meet Quatre's gaze. "Please." The soft voice breathed over his lips, forcing him to blink out of his thoughts rapidly.

"I'm fine, Quatre, really."

"Alright." Quatre said doubtfully, running a gentle thumb across the high cheekbones, casing Trowa's doubts to flee with the butterfly touch. The whole mood of the room changed abruptly as a bright smile suddenly appeared on the child-like features and his eyes lit up in sudden remembrance. The golden haired youth slipped off the bed careful not to spill his tea or knock his lover. "Trowa, you promised me you'd play solo for me today. I've got your flute out..." he lifted the slender case from the tray, holding it out to his friend, "Please?"

Trowa took the case lovingly, stroking the brushed metal before flicking open the clasps with the ease of long practise. "Will you at least let me get dressed?" he asked softly, a smile teasing along his mouth, fitting the pieces together with focused concentration.

The Arab shook his head, bouncing back down to the bed, blocking any possible methods of escape that didn't involve hurting Quatre by sitting firmly on the Heavyarms pilot's legs. "I have the sheet music here. No need to move." he grinned, pulling the thin paper from his pocket.

"Then sing with me." The request came even softer, as if afraid to hear the response. He glanced upwards as a small hand pushed away his bangs, revealing both eyes to the sun, and shied away from the light.

"I love you, Trowa Barton." Quatre replied firmly, his eyes fire blue novas in the sunlight. "You're special to /me/." He brushed a sweet kiss across the Latin boy's lips, then the hair fell back into place, leaving Trowa in shadow once more.

In a daze he lifted the cool flute to his lips, the notes quavering at first until his breath flowed freely again. Then Quatre's voice joined in song, rising high above the usual ranges to meld with the notes, the innocent heights flowing around them like a cool balm. Trowa's lips curled into a smile as he played, listening to the mixture of childish innocence, seduction, and wisdom that had formed an angel and, chosen him.

[Sing to me, like the very first sing.

You are magnificent when you're innocent.

Laugh to me, like the very first laugh.

You are omnipotent when you're innocent.

Speak to me, like the very first speak.

You are magnificent when you're innocent.

Smile to me, like the very first smile.

You are from heaven sent when you're innocent.]


End file.
